Hands
by lizardcookie
Summary: Pretty, ugly, soft, calloused. Loyal, deadly, intertwined. Scarred, fisted, and innocent. Their hands tell all until they grow cold, but his are still warm and tiny and alive.


Lily Evans has beautiful hands. Freckled and pale, her knobby wrists hold a certain amount of elegance that lead to soft palms and long fingers. Her hands are pretty, and their touch is bewitching. She wears only one ring, a pearl set in gold that her father had once given her mother, who passed it onto Lily. Her fingers wrap around her wand properly and firmly, power seeping from her chest to her arms to her pretty, pretty hands which she knows can cause such terrible, terrible destruction should she need them to. For now Lily Evans keeps her hands as they are, porcelain skin stronger than ivory. Her hands are hers to help and to heal and to love.

James Potter has ugly hands. The skin is calloused and blistered, the result of being able to throw a Quaffle as soon as he learned to throw a tantrum. White and red scars litter the surface– the one below his left thumb a result of improperly picking a lock, the burn on his wrist a consequence of a poorly executed attempt at brewing a Stinking Syrup. His wizard's gold watch looks almost too big for his wrist, but the haphazard way the face rests and reflects light suits James just fine. His hands are ugly, but they do beautiful work. They are loyal hands that hold a loyal wand, slightly improperly yet extremely proficiently. For now James Potter keeps his hands as they are, calloused and worked and strong. His hands are his to help and to heal and to grow.

Eventually her pretty hand reaches out to find his, and Lily Evans discovers that her soft hands fit perfectly in James Potter's ugly, calloused set. She laughs when she feels his hands on her cheeks, pulling her towards his lips, which she thankfully finds to be as soft as her own.

Soon enough, their hands aren't the only things they find intertwined, but they still test to see what power they hold in their fingers and how they can touch and feel when they are alone. At the end, their hands will always find each other.

Now they both have rings on their fingers, a matching set of Potter heirlooms James found amongst his inheritance. They feel nothing that day but joy, despite the war and despite the cloud of death that follows them wherever they may go. For once they will be two foolish teenagers who are madly in love, holding hands and smiling and laughing in an almost sickening way. For once they are kids, innocently and insanely in love.

Lily Potter's hands can no longer be called pretty. Scars and burns cover the backs of them, and two of her left fingers bend at an awkward angle as a result of one of Knott's more "sophisticated" fighting techniques. And some nights Lily can't stop wringing her hands, and other nights James can't move the fists he's formed. His hands haven't thrown a Quaffle into the air in ages. Her hands have killed.

There are now two more soft hands to complete this Potter set. They are tiny, stubby, and surprisingly strong. Fast, too. James has lost his wand to this little pair enough to know that they've got good instincts– maybe they'll have the Quidditch future he never had. Lily loves these two little hands, so soft and innocent and clean. Look at them, she thinks, there's nothing. Blank space. Maybe they'll freckle. Maybe they'll callous. But oh, please, let them have the chance, let them grow, let them get big and make their own decisions.

Harry's soft little hands annoy the cat, but Snuffles doesn't seem to mind how they may, at times, pull his fur more aggressively than should be allowed. These little hands love the cat and dog and the bubbles that come shooting out from nowhere whenever he claps for them. These little hands love their father's chunky glasses and their father's surplus hair. They love their mother's soft robes and soft cheeks that sing and smile through the day.

One night, Harry's hands find themselves tangled in a long white beard that doesn't seem to appreciate their pulling and prodding. After that, his hands work extra hard for the bubbles to come or for the soft cheeks to sing their usual song. Harry's soft little hands grip the crib like they usually do, but that person standing in front of him isn't going to turn into a dog or sing or play with him.

Harry's little hands grip another beard, this one dark and coarse. They grip a blanket until he sleeps, and never again will Harry's soft little hands steal his father's wand or cling to his mother's robes.

James Potter's ugly hands are just like his wife's now. Lily Potter's hands are no longer pretty, or ugly, or broken, or scarred.

Just cold.


End file.
